Once we got an ad submitted to the newspaper for a talking dog for sale.
Intrigued, we called the seller and asked to speak to the dog.
“So what have you done with your life?” we asked the dog.
“I’ve led a very full life,” says the dog. “I lived in Anna Maria, rescuing privateers who jumped from the pier but couldn’t swim. Then I spent time in Holmes Beach, dodging golf carts. And now I spend my days bar-hopping with some terriers in Bradenton Beach. We also visit Cortez, a quaint fishing village with a drinking problem, but the natives are very kind to canines.”
We were flabbergasted, so we asked to speak to the dog’s owner.
“Why on Earth would you want to get rid of an incredible dog like that?” we asked.
To which the owner said, “Because he’s a dirty, rotten little liar! He never did any of those things!”
But, boy, oh boy, do we have stories to tell.
After all, you may fret over what some government officials do to annoy their constituents from time to time, like threatening to pave over paradise with a parking garage, but we’ve been through 31 years of three cities electing (sometimes wacky) mayors and commissioners, and we know where the bodies are buried.
There was a time when officials in the northernmost city joked about being the Anna Maria mafia. And not so long ago, no one would doubt you if you told them there was vodka flowing from the city hall water fountain.
There was a time when Longboat Key wanted to prevent the island trolley from rolling south through the town — too honky-tonk. And Bradenton Beach was called a honky-tonk now and again. After the remodel on Pine Avenue, someone told me they wouldn’t drive on the street — “too much like a honky-tonk.”
Some people asked how Holmes Beach managed to be “so sane” in comparison, to which I can only laugh. They evidently didn’t see our costumed mayor and two commissioners campaigning as the three musketeers.
And most folks don’t know the rage that comes from people named in the police reports.
Or the gratitude of people who place obituaries for loved ones.
Or the joy expressed by people whose children and grandchildren are featured in photos playing sports, catching fish or achieving goals at school or in life.
I can’t tell you all the stories I’ve heard in 31 years as publisher of The Islander, but I am tremendously grateful to share (most of) the news with you.